


Oh, Perfect Clarity

by xXScreenSaverXx (orphan_account)



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Author is tired, Fluff, Hannibal Loves Will, M/M, Not Beta Read, Of which I have none, Please comment cause it saves my self esteem, Post Fall, almost?, hannibal is just chillin and will pops up like wassup I eat ppl, how does one tag?, i wrote this on my phone I’m sorryyyyyy it sucks, literally just monologues, opera - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 16:39:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13438902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/xXScreenSaverXx
Summary: It was fourteen months since the fall, and Hannibal was bored. The mundanity of life undisturbed by FBI investigations, or of the absence of criminal alerts broadcast across the country, was proving to be far too little stimulus. Paris had its beauties, yes, but it had been a long time since he’d allowed himself a thrill in any form.Maybe that’s why, upon seeing Will Graham’s face again, it felt as though it was the first time he’d been able to breathe clearly in decades.Oh, how did Hannibal get so lucky?





	Oh, Perfect Clarity

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been writing too much lately. Maybe I’m finally getting a life? Pffft nah, I’m just procrastinating. Ughhhhh. Please read, and enjoy! I’d love a comment, but just reading is awesome of ya!

Attending the opera that night had not been a spur-of-the-moment idea. Rarely, anything Hannibal ever did was. These days, hours upon hours of meticulous planning went into attending the activities he’d taken so much for granted, previously. Though the lure of good wine and the conversation of high-society courtiers was usually enough draw him from his study, since his days in Baltimore, Hannibal was quickly learning to substitute leisure for freedom. Although it had been a long time since he’d caught wind of Jack Crawford or his associates, he found it necessary to lay low, even at the cost of his entertainment. 

Even if, these days, it felt less like his entertainment, and more like his sanity.

It was fourteen months since the fall, and Hannibal was bored. The mundanity of life undisturbed by FBI investigations, or of the absence of criminal alerts broadcast across the country, was proving to be far too little stimulus. Paris had its beauties, yes, but it had been a long time since he’d allowed himself a thrill in any form.

Maybe that’s why, upon seeing Will Graham’s face again, it felt as though it was the first time he’d been able to breathe clearly in decades. 

Of all the places he’d expected - or often, even, fantasized - of seeing his former-patient, mingling among lords and ladies was not one of them. The Will he’d once knew would have blanched at the idea, his face contorting at the very premise of donning a suit to hold stuffy conversation all night long. And yet, here he was.

Hannibal was under no illusion that this could very well be wishful thinking. Many men shared the once-investigators features and body type, although the idea wad quickly disregarded as heresy. Even across the grand hall where the guests waited, he’d have known those freckles, those soft brown curls, those sorrow filled, begging eyes, anywhere. 

Seeing the man, despite his confusion, was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, one that he had not before been aware of. He stood, marveling, at how this year and two months had treated his patient. He stood straighter, surer in himself. His stubble had disappeared, a fact that Hannibal was unsure of his opinion on. Will’s longer, softer hair, however, he very wholeheartedly approved of.

William hadn’t noticed him, he noted. ‘Not yet’, a part of his brain seemed to whisper. Another part of him agrees. In fact, there was very little of him, that didn’t. But nevertheless, that nagging doubt existed. The last time he had seen the detective, he’d been unconscious, having been taken up to the room of a small bed-and-breakfast under the guise of having passed out through excessive alcohol consumption. Hannibal had wanted to stay. He really had. To watch Will’s eyes flutter open, confusion and worry fleeting under the knowledge that he was safe, that he’d survived. But he couldn’t. So he’d left - of course, only after making sure that food and water was aplenty, and that his wounds had healed enough that he would survive without doubt. 

It was safer that way, he told himself. It was a necessary sacrifice. To leave him there. To leave the knowledge of something he’d described as ‘beautiful’ there. William could return to Maryland, and could easily convince the FBI that it had all been Hannibal’s fault. Things generally were, after all. 

Despite his painful musings, Hannibal couldn’t help but feel a sharp tug of amusement at the thought of Jack once again trying to hunt him down. For Christ’s sake, the man had dined with him. Laughed with him. He hadn’t noticed a thing. That, he noted with a twinge of pride, had all been Will.

In settings such as these, Hannibal was, by no means, a subtle man. His nature allure attracted attention from men and women alike, quickly drawing a crowd whether or not he intended to do so.

So it really was only a matter of time before Madame Duboire strode over, blue gown flowing behind her as she strode confidently towards him, announcing, “Doctor LeBann! Please meet my associate, Mister Christopher Vaine!” 

She smiled a clandestine smile, her cold eyes twinkling in the dim opera house lights. Behind her, his face a mask, but with eyes wide and questioning stood the man in question. 

“Ah,” Hannibal offered. “A please to meet you, Mr Vaine. Victor LeBann, at your service.” He offered his hand, feeling his mask relax at the sight of a familiar face. 

“Likewise, Doctor,” Will - Christopher - offered in return, accepting the handshake gracefully. 

Duboire clapped her hands, delighted. “I knew you two would get along! After all, your work is vastly similar. Perhaps you could compare notes?” At her bright, blinding grin, Hannibal felt himself chuckle. 

“But of course, my dear. It would be my honour” he added, glancing in Will’s direction. The detective smiled softly. 

“Perhaps we shall. Don’t we occupy the same fields of work? I’d love to hear your opinions, Doctor.”

Hannibal smiled, this time genuine. His mask grinned widely. “But of course, Christopher. After all, I’ve often been told I’ve been gifted in certain areas of psychoanalysis.”

Will chuckled. “Don’t psychoanalyse me, Victor. You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalysed.” 

Hannibal felt a clenching in his stomach, an unnatural warmth spreading across his body. ‘Is this... Contentment? Happiness?’ He wondered. It didn’t seem to matter.

“I’ll make sure to keep my judgements to myself,” he played along. Wills dark, soft eyes filled with mirth.

“You could,” he agreed. “Or you could share?” He produced a business card, holding it towards him. “Give me a call, Doctor. I look forward to hearing your opinion,” he announced, before following Duboire as she left, mingling and flirting with various attendants. 

Hannibal felt his heart flutter, if only for a second, before he crushed the feeling. He looked down at the card, considering. 

“Christopher Vaine, Therapist,” he read, making not of the phone number attached. Just for a second, he let his mask drop and express his thrilled disposition. Only for a second, though. 

“I look forward to it.”


End file.
